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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27139492">Your Heart is in My Lunchbox!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCatSU/pseuds/CookieCatSU'>CookieCatSU</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drake Mallard is a good dad, Episode: s03e12 Let's Get Dangerous!, Found Family, Gen, post-episode, so is Launchpad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:55:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27139492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCatSU/pseuds/CookieCatSU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Darkwing Duck helps one Gosalyn Waddlemeyer find her family, with mixed results.</p><p>(It's hard to find something, right under your nose)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Drake Mallard &amp; Gosalyn Mallard, Drake Mallard &amp; Gosalyn Mallard &amp; Launchpad McQuack, Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>144</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Your Heart is in My Lunchbox!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>In the last month, Drake has gone from wannabe actor, to wannabe hero, to kinda Single? Dad (Still patent pending, that one).</p><p>It's been a whirlwind for sure. Drake finds himself still reeling from it all, often struck dumb by everything that's suddenly changed. And a lot has changed.</p><p>He used to live in a little, one bedroom apartment the size of a shoebox, and now he's got full rein of an entire abandoned tower on the bay.</p><p>He's still getting used to the little girl, sleeping in the guest bedroom. He's still getting used to waking from half a day of snoozing to the sound of Launchpad's keys hitting the coffee table. He's definitely still getting used to pancake brunches at 2 in the morning, sticky fingers and laughter, and scolding Gosalyn and Launchpad when they start spraying syrup at each other.</p><p>It's nice. Concerning, because of just how nice it is.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Drake is getting attached. He knows he is, as soon as he drags himself into the kitchen, and recognizes the palpable <em> concern </em> forming in his chest at the sight of Gosalyn sitting hunched at the kitchen counter, glaring at her tablet with eyebrows knit together. She looks so stressed, and it physically pains Drake to see her in such a state.</p><p>He focuses on the smell of bacon cooking, to distract himself from how <em> weak </em> he is (How long did he last? A day and a half, maybe?).</p><p>Launchpad waves from further in the kitchen. He's got a pan in his other hand, and is juggling two others, whistling all the while.</p><p>"Wakey Wakey Eggs and Bakey, Drake" Launchpad calls in bright singsong. As always, Launchpad's aura is warm, and all encapsulating, and distracting in just the way Drake needs, right now. He easily allows himself to be sucked into Launchpad's orbit, smiles brightly, even through the haze of half sleep.</p><p>"Morning, LP" Drake replies, as he takes a seat at the counter beside Gosalyn.</p><p>"It's really evening, bud, but sure!" Launchpad laughs, as he drops 3 plates on the counter.</p><p>Drake gazes over at Gosalyn.</p><p>"What about a quick search through the morning paper…" He pauses, smiles warmly, "There's a new 'Garfield' strip in the Sunday comics"</p><p>"Nice try. You aren't going to distract me" Gosalyn responds through a mouthful of egg, green eyes half lidded, fork pointed outward and eyebrow raised. She chuckles and Drake offers a warm hum of agreement (he tried).</p><p>She's doggedly determined, like she has been for days.</p><p>"Missing persons?"</p><p>"I already looked over that. No luck, Gos, sorry"</p><p>"Not even a single mention of my Grandpa?" Gosalyn asks, tone thick with desperation as she points at the newspaper with a single, feathered finger.</p><p>Drake shakes his head, "No".</p><p>Gosalyn throws her face down on the counter with a loud groan, "Then why are we looking at it?"</p><p>"We have to check all of our avenues… and, okay, maybe I thought a <em> distraction </em> might be a good thing"</p><p>Gosalyn pouts at him, but doesn't immediately disagree.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Drake stares up at the screen, Launchpad's jacket pulled tight around his shoulders. The fluffy collar tickles the side of his beak.</p><p>He's exhausted, but refuses to go to sleep. Drake has a promise to make good on, and he told himself he would not rest until that sentiment had been fulfilled. He would not rest! He would just, ever so briefly, close his eyes. He'd just let them settle, peacefully, before it was time to head off on patrol. It wasn't quite resting, if he was just resting his eyes…. Yeah.</p><p>He definitely doesn't fall asleep sitting up in his chair in the pitch black of the Tower, because that would be a breach of his word. When his eyes slowly peel open, all sandy grit and bleariness, and his crossed arms fall from his chest in a mess of elbows, he's sure he'd only been uh, meditating. And only for a couple minutes probably.</p><p>He blinks rapidly, wiping at his eyes, catching his bearings. He's staring at a fuzzy blob of tan and red, nice warm colors that work to set his fumbling mind at ease. He sits up in his chair, just barely catches himself before he falls beak first on the floor, and blinks again.</p><p>Once he's fully 'awake', Drake squints in recognition.</p><p>"Gosalyn?" He stares at the kid, who's perched on the control board beside him, arms crossed, legs dangling. She clearly had been, and still is, watching him, from the corner of half closed lids, like she's trying to study him without being too obvious</p><p>"How long have you been sitting there?"</p><p>She doesn't immediately answer, instead turning toward the screen. She presses a button on the control panel with a comfortable assuredness, as if she knows the system by heart. Honestly, by the way WANDA greets her, she probably does.</p><p>"A while" She finally says, once the system has fully booted up. She clicks a couple more keys, and Drakes shuts his eyes against the bright flashes of color that result.</p><p>"FPV?"</p><p>Drake nods. He presses his hand to his temple, trying to control the wave of lightheadedness and nausea that washes over him. His hand lands at his side with a lack of his usual zeal, fingers brushing over soft, felt fabric- a blanket, one he doesn't remember grabbing, though it's spread over him, anyhow, gently draped over his whole body, beside one shoulder that'd managed to peak through during the night.</p><p>"Good thinking, Drake" Gosalyn says quietly, attention utterly arrested by the screen.</p><p>Drake is still puzzling out the mystery that is the magically appearing blanket. Launchpad left late last night, forced to abandon Drake and Gosalyn because of an emergency call from McDuck Manor. He'd been apologetic, and rife with nervous, thundering energy, as he rambled about Beasts and 'Dewey's missing' and 'I'll be back as soon as I can' before he disconnected their hands, where he and Drake were connected at the elbow, and started to step away. Drake had scowled, dissatisfied by the interruption (they'd just gotten through episode 3 of the Duck Knight) and the loss of contact, but nodded in understanding.</p><p>"You have to help the fam" He'd said, after the third apology, and Launchpad smiles so brightly, in thanks, that he could easily rival the sun. It's like having a star glowing in his living room, he's so immaculate, so precious, and Drake has half a mind to shade his eyes.</p><p>"I'll be back before you know it" He'd exclaimed, and then he'd pat him on the shoulder once more, turned, stumbled a couple steps to the door, and was gone.</p><p>Which is exactly why Drake is so confused.</p><p>He stares at the blanket. It sounds like such a Launchpad thing to do, and Drake knows he has, remembers blinking blearily in the dead of night (morning?) to find Launchpad hovering above him, humming a little ditty, and tenderly draping a blanket over him when he starts to shiver. He would have assumed this time was Launchpad's work, too, but he knows it couldn't have been, because he was still in Duckburg, half-way across the district.</p><p>So, if it wasn't Launchpad, that meant…. Gosalyn?</p><p>He gazes up at her. The map of St. Canard reflects in the darks of her eyes, which gleam and glow with the light of the screen.</p><p>"Did you sit here all night?"</p><p>She huffs, her fingers seeming to cramp mid button push. She splays her hand wide, shakes it, and resumes typing.</p><p>"Yeah…. I uh, didn't really want to leave you" She seems to hear herself, and then adds, "It's dangerous round here, so I had to be sure no one was breaking in, or anything"</p><p>She shrugs, draws her left knee up to her chest, and turns slightly away. </p><p>A smile starts to creep across Drake's face, and then he laughs, "Oh, aren't you precious"</p><p>He stumbles to his feet, heaving the girl up in his arms. He stumbles backward a bit, with the added weight, but manages to remain centered otherwise.</p><p>"What are you doing?" Gosalyn howls, fumbling in his grip. She nearly kicks him in the face, which honestly only makes him laugh harder, "Put me down"</p><p>"I'm taking you to your room, y'know, so you can sleep"</p><p>"I don't need to sleep" She pushes against his cheek, trying to break free from his vice like grip. After a few moments, it becomes clear it's futile, and she slumps back with a loud, suffering sigh, "What about the search? What if somebody finds somethin' and I'm conked out upstairs?"</p><p>She looks afraid.</p><p>"I'll keep my eye on the screens. You just rest"</p><p>She slumps forward.</p><p>"Fine"</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> Bruised, battered, but never defeated, Darkwing Duck springs back into action! </em>
</p><p>The phrase rattles around in Gosalyn's head, pinging like a tennis ball against concrete. It's a truth, just the same as the saying that good only comes for those who work for it, or that life isn't fair. Darkwing Duck falls, struggles, hurts, but never quits.</p><p>It's one of the things Gosalyn finds herself admiring about Darkwing- about Drake. He is fiercely determined, in a way most would call ill-advised, foolhardy, even. </p><p>Nothing ever stops him.</p><p>Gosalyn wasn't ever going to let something else stop her, again. Even broken bones were no match for Gosalyn Waddlemeyer.</p><p>"Ow-" She snaps, attempting to yank away. Darkwing Duck looks cowed, like a kicked puppy, still decked out all in purple and covered in scorch marks from their run-in with Megavolt.</p><p>"Sorry"</p><p>Launchpad hadn't returned from Duckburg yet, so Drake was on his own.</p><p>Drake hasn't felt this concerned about someone else in ages, and it's terrifying. His heart aches in his chest at the sight of her, curled up in a ball on the sofa, red hair falling in her face in a frazzled mess. Her breath comes ragged and pained, hitching every so often, making her shoulders tremble and bounce. She looks so tiny.</p><p>He inspects her hand. Her thumb joint has begun to swell, and her knuckles are bruised red.</p><p>"I'm fine"</p><p>Drake isn't a doctor, but he knows that isn't true. Even as she speaks, she hisses in pain, eyes watering while she tries not to cry.</p><p>"No, you're not. Now, stay right there, I'll be right back"</p><p>He returns with a first aid kit in tow.</p><p>"SpiderDuck or 'Bacon &amp; Eggs'?"</p><p>Gosayln's green eyes darken. She glowers at the floor.</p><p>"SpiderDuck" She says, eyeing the box of band-aids, "At least the colors are cool"</p><p>He sits gingerly beside her, gently takes her hand, and gets to work on patching her up as best he can. </p><p>"Cheer up" He says, with an encouraging smile, when she scowls at him, all hard edges and suspicion.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Drake and Fenton are friends. Drake is pretty fond of the scientist: he's bumbling, but well meaning and passionate. Unlike his friend, Gearloose, Fenton can hold a conversation with him without falling into a murderous rage about halfway through because Drake doesn't know the basics behind quantum mechanics or something.</p><p>They bump into each other in the grocery store, shortly after the Moonvasion, and strike up an immediate dialogue. They bond over avocados, of all things. Organic versus not- and before they know it they’re pals for life. </p><p>Then Drake starts talking about Gosalyn, because he's an idiot, and he can't go ten minutes without talking about Gosalyn, nowadays.</p><p>"Well, you know, Darkwing just dropped this little girl on my doorstep. Asked if I could watch her for 'im" Drake says offhandedly, as way of explanation, when Fenton starts to wonder. Smart, he thinks. Good way to avoid a disaster.</p><p>"Just out of the blue like that? And you said yes….?"</p><p>Fenton had blinked at him, and Drake had laughed, hands flying at his sides, and added, "Course, I couldn't say <em> no </em>. I mean, he's Darkwing Duck!"</p><p>Fenton, apparently satisfied with that, makes a noise in the back of his throat, half disbelieving and half sympathetic, and turns back to his work, "Isn't that a doozy?"</p><p>Yeah. Definitely a doozy. </p><p>It's considerably harder to explain the need for a dimensional rift device. That's not something Drake Mallard could ask about.</p><p>So Drake puts on his cape.</p><p>"Have you got anything, Dr. Cabrera?"</p><p>They're standing in the middle of Scrooge McDuck's secret, underwater lab. It's cold, and not particularly bright, the only illumination that cast from the flickering light bulbs and whatever could penetrate the ocean depths beyond inch thick glass windows. Light patterns dance across the floor the same as ocean waves, and Darkwing watches them dutifully so he doesn't have to look at Fenton.</p><p>Some small, traitorous part of him hopes Waddlemeyer won't be found. It makes him feel awfully guilty, the surge of relief that strums beneath his feathers, when Fenton tells him it isn't to be. He stuffs it as far down as he can, swallows it back, because it's wrong.</p><p>"Fenton, I made a promise. I- I need you to tell me you've found something…. please have found something"</p><p>"I'm sorry. As I said before, this is all just too unpredictable. I might be able to devise a safe way to pull Dr. Waddlemeyer back from wherever he might be… but it's going to take time, and, lots of help, and I can't make any promises to how well this will work or even if it will work" Fenton pauses, and he looks so apologetic, but his eyes shine, gleaming with fervor, "We're exploring brand new territory here, Darkwing. I don't even know how Bulba managed to open a <em> single </em> interdimensional rift without causing a massive implosion, and we'll be opening <em> dozens- </em>"</p><p>Drake runs his hand down his face. "How long?"</p><p>"A few months at least," Fenton says quietly. "Probably longer. I'll discuss with Dr. Gearloose, and contact a few colleagues. A few more heads should expedite things"</p><p>"So, probably not until at least- October, December?"</p><p>It was July now.</p><p>Fenton shakes his head, "Probably not"</p><p>It's awful, but he feels a weight coming off his shoulders at that news, and his shoulders unfurl and he stands a little straighter. He sighs, and again, there's that unwanted, prickling sense of relief. Relief, because that means Gosalyn would be staying with him until then. He wouldn't have to let her go, just yet. He'd get to <em> keep </em> her. </p><p>He knows he's crossing his bounds, but he can't help but entertain the idea of raising Gosalyn, as his own, and feels a great ache in his chest, because he probably won't get the luxury.</p><p>Well… </p><p>Drake Mallard always had been selfish.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"I can't raise a kid" Drake says quickly, maybe a little too quickly, Launchpad thinks.</p><p>"But aren't you? Aren't we doing that?"</p><p>Drake shakes his head, again too fast and jerky. Launchpad thinks it's out of character, the flat out disagreement, and he also thinks it's going to give him whiplash, the way he's slinging his head around.</p><p>"No, you're- you've got it all wrong" Drake corrects him, but he doesn't say how Launchpad is possibly wrong. Instead he stares at the suit in front of him, mulberry fabric clinging to the mannequin, fingers brushing and pulling at pleated seams.</p><p>Launchpad watches, waiting for DW to enlighten him. </p><p>"She's my sidekick…. not my daughter. I- I never called her my daughter. And this is temporary, anyway" Darkwing- Drake, won't look at Launchpad. His shoulders are drawn, pinched tight like a bow bent to snap. The thread beneath his fingers, picking and prodding with dangerous fervor, threatens to unravel from all of the undue attention. Drake is upset, and Launchpad can tell. He always can.</p><p>Launchpad has noticed some differences, between Drake and Darkwing, though they're often one in the same. When Drake puts on that suit, it's like putting on a shroud. He feels near invincible, and it's clear in the way he talks and walks and throws himself headfirst into the fray. But once the suit comes off, Drake always seems so vulnerable, in a way the complex monologues and shiny smoke bombs can't possibly hide. </p><p>He's a little more genuine, less contrived confidence and tacky bravery.</p><p>Launchpad steps forward, placing two reassuring hands on his shoulders from behind. The shorter duck tenses, briefly, before eventually laying one of his hands atop Launchpad's own.</p><p>Launchpad spends a brief few seconds, considering what to say. </p><p><em> Temporary </em>. The word is sour as it curls from Drake's beak, and Launchpad thinks he gets it. </p><p>"But, that doesn't make her not our kid, does it? She's still our kid" Launchpad says, simple and plain and honest, like he says everything. Launchpad smiles.</p><p>He can see both their faces in the glass. Drake's shoulders start to shake under his palms, and it takes a moment, but he realizes Drake's crying. He can see his tears through the glass.</p><p>"You're the worst" Drake mutters, voice thick with emotion. He wipes at his eye and then laughs, "But as usual, you're right"</p><p>Gosalyn is theirs. Even if she's due to leave them, she's still theirs.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It smells like sea salt, and- she loathes to admit it but- home. Drake does too, smells like ocean spray and briny water and the faintest hint of smoke. Her nose wrinkled up, the first time she'd snuck into his hideout, and caught a whiff of the bay just out beyond. She couldn't help but think dead fish and squelchy sand, and the scent permeated everything.</p><p>She isn't sure when she starts to find it comforting.</p><p>She isn't sure when this happens either, but pretty soon, she's starting to think of it as home.</p><p>She starts to think of Launchpad and Drake as home.</p><p>When the temperature starts to drop, and the sky is darkening, she finds herself outside of Drake Mallard's apartment. She had a lot of places she could have gone, but her teacher had helped her after school with studying, and when it had started to get late, had simply asked, "Where's your home?" Because obviously, they'd be dropping her off.</p><p>She'd automatically burst out with Drake's address.</p><p>And here she was, at his door at the dead of night, hoodie sleeves pulled down to cover her hands in an attempt to ward off the cold. She knocks, and the bolts rustle and locks click, and then Drake is staring down at her with concern on his face and a spatula in his hand.</p><p>"Gosalyn, where have you been?" He squawks, just like she thought he might, and then he pulls her into the warm interior of the apartment without a second glance.</p><p>Instead of feeling annoyed, like she'd expect, she only feels a cascade of warmth fall over her, as she gets the distinct impression that she's finally at home.</p><p>Everything seems right in the world, at that moment, and that, in and of itself, is a little scary.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"You could be my sidekick"</p><p>"I… yeah, okay"</p><p>"Great! And as my sidekick, that means we're going to need matching outfits. Tada!" He brandishes a mauve purple hoodie, with indigo pockets, and… Darkwing Duck's logo is stamped on the left shoulder… so, it's got Drake's face on it, basically.</p><p>Gosalyn scowls. "What is that?"</p><p>Drake falters briefly. He gazes down at the little article of clothing, with a look of faint confusion, as if he can't figure out why someone wouldn't absolutely love it. Gosalyn thinks she also sees a little bit of hurt, somewhere between his pinched brows and pursed beak, but elects to ignore it.</p><p>"I think it's great" Launchpad offers happily, "I love purple"</p><p>Drake perks up at that, desperate like a puppy offered a bone. He still turns back to Gosalyn, anyway,</p><p>"I thought you might like it. And you do need more clothes"</p><p>Gosalyn blinks, stuffing her hands in her hoodie's front pocket, a light hum of dissatisfaction welling in her throat. "I like the one I have"</p><p>"Then you should let me wash it"</p><p>Gosalyn blinks harder. She hesitates, but nods after a moment, and starts to unzip her hoodie. The zipper is cold, and comfortingly smooth beneath her fingertips, as she slowly, slowly, pulls it downward. It's only once she's started to shed the fabric, and she's gotten used to the lack of weight across her shoulders, that she starts to speak</p><p>"Fine" She balls the green hoodie in her hands, offers it to Drake. He takes it, gently folding it as he goes, and hands her the new one.</p><p>She bunches it in her grip. It's soft. Warm. Smells like briny sea salt. It's not the same as her old one…. but…. It's nice.</p><p>She glares at the little purple logo on the chest, the purple, inked silhouette of Darkwing.</p><p>"You have a problem" She quips, with a roll of her eyes, but she's definitely laughing.</p><p>Drake reddens, and then he laughs too. "I have a problem? At least I haven't been wearing the same shirt for a week"</p><p>"Don't diss my shirt" Gosalyn calls with a scoff, hand reaching to rest on her chest, atop her lavender t-shirt, which was, admittedly, musty.</p><p>Launchpad looks over at Drake, a little confused.</p><p>"What's the problem? You wear my shirt all the time"</p><p>Gosalyn fails to cover her beak before the first giggle tumbles out.</p><p>Drake sputters, and rushes to cover Launchpad's mouth before he says something else a bit more… revealing.</p><p>Gosalyn laughs out loud, "See, Launchpad's on my side"</p><p>Gosalyn stuffs the new hoodie under her arm, sits down at the counter, and waits for the drama to unfold.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>His beak twitches upward. "What about finding your Grandpa? Going home?"</p><p>She shrugs, offers a small slip of a smile. "I think I already am home… This is kind of home, too"</p><p> </p>
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